


The White Cell and the Dark Truth

by gypsyweaver



Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [26]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ligur Lives (Good Omens), Mentioned Hastur (Good Omens), Multi, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Sandalphon Being an Asshole (Good Omens), Swearing, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26680714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: Ligur explains what happened to him after Crowley dumped a bucket of the holiest water over his head.War's promised friends show up. Heaven is going to burn.
Relationships: Beelzebub & Dagon (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens), Ligur & Michael (Good Omens)
Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684990
Kudos: 11





	The White Cell and the Dark Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nearsighted_alien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nearsighted_alien/gifts).



> CW: Swearing, some violence, exposition, no smut

The discorporated angel looked up at the window, as if he’d heard them whisper his names. His eyes looked, to Gabriel, like two loamy pits of pain.

“I can’t stay,” Pestilence said, softly. He held a finger out to the tiny Prince of Hell, who hugged it to themself. “Sorry, Beelzebub. Once you encorporate him, he’ll be just as vulnerable as anyone else.”

“Can’t you kiss his forehead?” Gabriel asked.

“No,” Pestilence replied. “The blood is too hot in me now. I want to spread. I _need_ it. I can’t trust myself like this. Sorry. So sorry, Beelzebub.”

“Ride on, sweet boy,” Beelzebub replied, releasing his finger.

“Look, they’re weak now. I think you can be big,” Pestilence said.

“You can,” Gabriel said, and he frowned as he realized the reason why. “This place is deep inside. We have observation orbs at intervals, but this cage...”

“It’s too far in,” Beelzebub surmised, turning back towards its lone inhabitant. “Nobody can see us here.”

Gabriel nodded, feeling his stomach lurch as his mind began the calculations of how and why this unwatched cell existed in Heaven’s dungeon. Nothing good came of his thoughts. He wondered how this angel, whose name leapt to him when he needed it, but was otherwise amongst the liturgy of the Fallen. Forgotten until it was needed. One name in ten million. How and why did this angel find himself locked away?

How and why did this angel find himself undestroyed, in spite of a liberal splash of water from the Golden Shores? From the holiest of holy pools?

Pestilence turned to a fine mist. “I’m everywhere,” he said, his voice a low menace wrapped in his feverish breath. “Do not enflesh him here. He’ll die.”

Beelzebub nodded. “As you zzay.”

Pestilence wafted away. Gabriel could feel him leave, more than see him go. He could feel, very distinctly that there were no eyes on him besides the demon’s.

Beelzebub must have likewise trusted that they were alone. They grew to their proper height, hopping free of the little window ledge and landing on the white marble floor beside Gabriel.

“Can you open it?” they asked.

“We’ll see,” Gabriel replied.

He waved his hand over the control panel, which lit up. He hummed a tune, a hymn that helped him remember his passcode. He entered it into the luminous blue keypad.

“Welcome, Archangel Gabriel,” said the voice of the Metatron. “Prepare for retinal scan.”

Gabriel leaned forward, and a tiny hole in the wall dilated. He felt the beam of golden light strike his retina, temporarily flooding his vision with light. When the light faded, the voice of the Metatron said, “Retinal scan completed. Archangel Gabriel. Security Level Double-A. You may enter.”

He grazed his fingertips across the keypad, and two pleasant tones played as the door whispered open.

Yomiel blinked up at the two of them.

“Boss?” he asked, looking from Gabriel to Beelzebub and back again.

“I’m...not sure,” Gabriel said, pulling his sleek phone from his inner jacket pocket, just beside the coil of his beloved’s hair. “Personnel files?” he asked his digital assistant.

“One moment,” his cell phone chirped.

Beelzebub did not wait for confirmation of Yomiel’s current employment. They were on their knees in front of him, reaching for him, carding their fingers through his essence as if it was water.

“Hastur?” he asked.

“Mourning you, every day,” Beelzebub replied. “I forced him into retirement, topside. He’s restricted to Florida.”

“Florida?”

“They’re well-accustomed to strangeness there, and there are twenty-seven native species of frogs there. That does not include the toads,” Beelzebub replied. “I thought it was safe for him, and Disneyworld is there.”

“We never got to go to Disney.”

“I promise you--I will get you out of here, and you will have the rest of time to see Disney.”

“Did we lose?” Yomiel asked.

“Lose? The war?” Beelzebub asked.

“I was told that we lost.”

“By whom?”

“Sandalphon.”

Gabriel’s digital assistant opened the necessary folders, and he located Yomiel. He had a Date of Fall listed, then nothing until an entry that said, “Reinstatement?” That was dated the Sunday after the failed Apocalypse. “Temporary Supervisor” was listed as Sandalphon. Yomiel was listed as discorporated and under disciplinary review for Falling.

“Armageddon didn’t happen,” Beelzebub explained. “The plan to place the Antichrist with a human family was, as you’ll remember I said, too convoluted. The boy ended up with the wrong humans. In the end, he dismissed Satan to God knows where, and declined to start the Apocalypse. No war.”

“So...now what?”

“The Horsepeople are riding through Heaven, and I’m rescuing you.”

“Apocalypse is back on, then?”

“Manner of speaking,” Beelzebub said, grimly. “The angels are being decimated by Pestilence, and I have no idea what War is up to. As of right now, only two have met with permanent destruction--Sandalphon and Nuriel.”

“Hellfire?” he asked.

Beelzebub nodded.

“You killed them?”

“Him,” they said, stabbing a thumb at Gabriel.

“Seriously?”

“Well, Nuriel had a knife at my throat at the time,” Gabriel said, more defensively than he liked.

“They were going to harm us. Both of us,” Beelzebub softened a bit. “In spite of appearances, Gabriel _is_ on our side.”

“Who else is on our side?”

“At a guess? Most of the demons, half of the Horsepeople, Gabriel, the Principality Aziraphale...” They paused. “Crowley.”

“Satan’s balls.” He laid a discorporated hand over his face. “But this is a rescue, right? You’ll take me to Hastur?”

“Yes. Just...help me understand. What happened to you, after the holy water?” Beelzebub asked, gently.

“Your boyfriend killed me, that’s what happened,” Ligur snapped. “It hurt. It fucking hurt, your Lowness.”

“Crowley is not my boyfriend,” Beelzebub said. “Never was.”

“Whatever. He killed me.”

“Crowley was tried for his crimes against you.”

“And?”

“Found guilty.”

“And?”

“Sentenced to destruction by holy water,” Beelzebub said. “But he survived.”

“Survived?” Yomiel asked, incredulously. “HOW?”

“Trickery,” Beelzebub replied. “It’s neither here nor there. I’m concerned about how YOU survived.”

“I don’t know. Just woke up someplace warm and bright,” Yomiel said. “It was my bad luck that feathered fucker found me. Sandalphon cut me down, like nothing. Just smiled at me, called my name--my OLD name--and then sword to the gut. No warning.”

“Sandalphon has been destroyed, as I said. Completely. I hope that brings you some measure of comfort.”

“It does!” Yomiel cried, and his voice cracked. “He burned my flesh and dragged me down here. I’ve been here since. Alone. Just...an empty room and nothing else. Nothing else, Beelzebub. Nothing.”

Beelzebub reached into his discorporated spirit. They knew what they were reaching for, but to Gabriel it was a mystery. Their hand touched something, and the whole of Yomiel flared a bit brighter, then dimmed.

“Wha?” he asked.

“It’s a calmative. Built into our very natures.”

“Ah...Thanks.”

Beelzebub looked up from him to Gabriel, and Gabriel’s questions burst forth from his teeth--entirely without his permission.

“How is all of this even possible?” Gabriel asked Beelzebub. “I mean, I know how Yomiel managed to stay here without being found. But how did he survive holy water? The holiest holy water?”

“That shit came from the Golden Shores?” Yomiel asked. Gabriel nodded. “No wonder it burned so badly.”

“What does your phone say about him?” Beelzebub asked.

They stood up and went to Gabriel’s side. He draped an unthinking arm around them as he showed them the file he had on Yomiel. They drew their sleek black phone, an Imp, from their jacket pocket and began to tap in their commands.

“Him?” Yomiel asked. “Are you serious?”

“Do not start with me, Ligur,” Beelzebub said. “My love life is none of your business, except I’m sure that you’ll be happy to know that our inverse natures are not incompatible. Meaning you will be able to continue to have marital relations with your husband once I recorporate you.”

“But...I’m stuck?! Like this? Feathers and everything?” His hazel eyes were wild with grief. “Can’t I just Fall again?”

“Not exactly,” Gabriel said. “As far as we know.”

“Satan is gone. No angels can Fall.” Beelzebub explained. “Here it is. ‘Ligur. Formerly Yomiel, order Cherubim. Date of Fall. Date of Descent to Duke. Deeds.’ More deeds.” They scrolled with a few elegant flicks of their fingers. “And, here it is. ‘Reassigned to Heaven, as per orders of the Antichrist.’”

“The Antichrist?” Gabriel asked.

“Adam...he put things back. Many things. I think he put Ligur back,” Beelzebub mused, sliding their thumb over the edge of their Imp, putting it to sleep. “But Ligur wasn’t originally a demon. You were originally Yomiel, an Archangel. The nineteenth commander of the Watchers.”

“I thought Michael locked all of them up in Mount Hermon?” Gabriel asked.

“I suppose she missed one,” Beelzebub said, and their eyes narrowed. “Intentionally, am I correct?”

“A debt that I’ve been paying back ever since,” Yomiel growled. “She gave me a choice, and told me that Hell had a lot more potential for advancement than an empty mountain.” He sighed. “Me and Michael, we had been friendly, before I drew Watcher duty. I guess she thought I’d be useful in Hell.” He looked down at his own translucent hands. “I never gave her anything too big, just old news or declassified stuff. In return for being her backchannel, she helped me...advance.”

“How?” Gabriel asked. “How could she help you advance in Hell?”

“She let me corrupt whomever I wanted to,” Yomiel said. “I didn’t have the same interference that other demons had, so I could just...I could...” He sighed again, and Gabriel thought that Yomiel sighed a lot for a being that didn’t breathe. “I become a Duke, eventually. Because of my Deeds. And when Michael extended her protection to Hastur? She had me then.”

“You’d give anything for him,” Beelzebub said. “I understand. Well, your stay here is over. I’m going to have to carry you out. If I give you a body now, you’ll lose it.”

“Pestilence is stronger than he’s ever been,” Gabriel said, softly.

“Michael never came looking for me. Nobody did.”

“Sandalphon didn’t record you as a prisoner. Our prisoner manifest says that all of these cells are empty,” Gabriel explained. He held his phone down to show Beelzebub. “Empty,” he repeated.

“Come,” Beelzebub said, slipping out from under Gabriel’s arm.

Yomiel rose, and went to them. Beelzebub’s hands went up, and Yomiel’s essence became shapeless, and then compressed into a single, shining ball. Beelzebub plucked it out of the air with two fingers and slipped it into their pocket.

They turned back to Gabriel. “Are there any more cells like this one? Away from surveillance?”

“I...I don’t know,” Gabriel answered honestly. “Corrections is not my department. It’s Michael’s...but she wouldn’t have left one of her own assets to rot. I don’t think she knew he was down here.”

“So we’d have to check...”

“Check for what?”

“Lucifer.”

“Lucifer,” Gabriel repeated. His brother’s name fell from his lips like smooth, heavy stones. “But...it doesn’t make any sense!”

“What doesn’t?”

“Sandalphon had his jars. Why use the prison?”

“If I had to guess,” Beelzebub replied. “Those jars probably couldn’t hold an angel.”

“Possibly,” Gabriel agreed.

“Sandalphon must have known that nobody comes here,” they continued. “That this is a safe place to store an errant Archangel. Maybe two of them, if he got Lucifer.”

“Wouldn’t Pestilence have told you if he came across Lucifer?” Gabriel asked.

Beelzebub nodded. “I believe that he would.”

“Let me check our file on Lucifer,” Gabriel said.

Beelzebub assumed their former position by his side, and he marveled at how good it felt to have them there, tucked under an arm. On his side, by his side.

“Lucifer...” he muttered, as he swiped through the files. “Here he is...he’s not listed as reinstated.”

Beelzebub took a deep breath. Their face turned into him, and he held them tighter.

“Adam may have well and truly ended him. I’m glad,” they said into Gabriel’s jacket. “I didn’t want to face him--whether he was a demon or an angel.”

Gabriel nodded, stroking the raven’s wing hair that he’d run his sword through. Running his fingers through the shorn parts in the back, near the nape of their neck. He felt them relax.

“Boss, call for you,” Beelzebub’s pocket said.

“Caller?” they replied, drawing the phone from their pocket.

“Dagon, Lord of the Files and Master of Torments.”

“I have to take this,” Beelzebub said. And then, into the phone, “Hello? Dagon?”

“Lord Beelzebub,” Dagon said, brightly. She was often the voice of Hell itself, and so, her voice cut through plastic, glass, and the crowd that Gabriel heard churning around her. He could hear every word she said. “Are you already here?”

“Where is ‘here’?”

“We’re at the Gates of Heaven, readying the charge, m’lord.”

“Tell them I say, ‘Hi!’” said another voice over the phone. “Hi, Beelzebub! I said I was meeting some friends!”

“War. Hello,” Beelzebub said. “Dagon, is the Infernal Host masked.”

“Yes, m’lord. The finest in American and Russian military surplus.”

“Good. Proceed with caution. The entirety of Heaven is saturated with Pestilence. Even the masks may not be enough,” Beelzebub said.

“Understood,” Dagon replied.

“If anybody’s mask is damaged, assume that they’re infected.”

“Right.”

“The angels are discorporating from Pestilence’s disease. They’re rather easy pickings,” Beelzebub said. “Hellfire would do it.”

“It would, indeed.”

“No prisoners,” Beelzebub said. “If you must fight, destroy them all.”

“And what shall you be doing, my lord?”

“Leaving. I believe that my position on the war was very clear,” Beelzebub said, softly. “I’ve served six thousand years of penance, planning for a war that I never wanted. I do not plan to serve a moment more.” They closed their eyes, and continued. “If this brings you peace, then so be it. I won’t stop you. Please, be careful--you have become very dear to me.” Their eyes fluttered open, and there was steel in their gaze. “I’m not going to war. You can find me in New Orleans, afterwards.”

“As you say,” Dagon replied, and the disappointment in her voice was unmistakable. “Thought you’d want Sandalphon, at least. Maybe Gabriel.”

“Gabriel and I have no quarrel, and he is not to be harmed,” Beelzebub said. “As for Sandalphon, he has already been destroyed. By Gabriel.”

“Sweet baby Satan! Truly?”

“He’s on our side. Unfallen, but on our side.”

“And the rest?”

“Leave the Principality Aziraphale. He’s on Earth.”

“Any traitor to Heaven is a friend of ours.”

“Is Duke Hastur with you?”

“Couldn’t get him out of Florida...he said he’s bound to the place.”

“Very good. I’ll be stopping in Florida, then.”

“What do you need with Hastur, if I may inquire?”

“You may,” Beelzebub said. “I found Ligur. He’s an angel, unfortunately. Sandalphon discorporated him and left him rotting in one of the white cells for these last two years.”

“Then those three...Gabriel, Ligur, and Aziraphale.”

“Those three.”

“Right, the rest shall taste our flames.”

“Tell War that I said hello, and good luck to you and the Infernal Host.” Beelzebub paused. “Update me when it’s over. Your victory is assured.”

“Yes, m’lord,” Dagon said smartly. “Thank you for the honor of command.”

“You worked very hard for it,” Beelzebub replied.

They said their goodbyes, and Beelzebub looked up at Gabriel. “It’s going to be a massacre. We ought to leave.”

Gabriel nodded. Beelzebub flicked at their Imp, and showed Gabriel a set of coordinates.

He nodded, and they both vanished, teleporting to Florida.

**Author's Note:**

> For eat_sand_pretty_please, who has no gifts!
> 
> I don't think there's anything that requires footnotes. If I missed something, let me know.
> 
> Comments and kudos are happymaking! Leave some!


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